Chapter 15
I’m a morning girl and soaking in the sunrises around the world is a pastime of mine. Wake up with the world. This morning I’m waking up with Stonehenge, and it’s one of the most beautiful sunrises I’ve seen. The bright light bouncing off the ancient stone pillars, peeking around the edges. No matter what your religion or beliefs, it’s a spiritual event that you don’t want to miss by hitting the snooze button.
~ Adventurous Amanda, October 2013
She wasn’t sure what had woken her—the smell of coffee or the sound of a guitar being played somewhere in his condo. She stretched, working the soreness out of muscles she hadn’t used in ages. Maybe hadn’t known existed. He’d worshipped every inch of her, and she’d gladly returned the favor multiple times last night.
Fuck. He was good at leaving her boneless and satisfied. She could kill her mother for delaying this bliss. Along with every other roadblock that had popped up along the way. But last night had been worth the wait.
She ran her hand along the cooling sheet. How long had he been up? She’d wanted to wake him with her mouth on his cock, followed by him inside her for the fourth—or was it fifth—time.
His stamina was amazing. Another point to hockey. She shivered at the memory of his powerful body moving over her, his shoulders bunching as he plunged in and out of her, never finishing before her.
He’d claimed he wouldn’t be a gentleman last night, but he’d been a startling mixture of pure power and tenderness wrapped up in perfection.
She sighed. She was never like this. And she wanted him again. Would that ever wane? Shuddering at that awful thought, she threw back the sheet and got out of bed. Spotting a Strikers t-shirt on the edge of a chair, she grabbed it and slipped it on. It held the faint scent of him, and desire spiked through her body as she made her way down the hall and toward the music.
At the edge of the living room, she stopped. He sat with his back to her—his gloriously naked back—as he hummed along with the guitar, his upper back shifting and tensing as he strummed the chords.
Sweet Jesus. He was gorgeous.
He had on a pair of sleep pants, the waistband low enough for her to glimpse the twin dimples just above his ass. The ink on one arm swirled and danced as he played. It was mesmerizing.
She finally looked around the living room. She’d been otherwise occupied last night. She bit her lip, resisting the urge to remove the guitar from his hands and jump into his lap so he could strum her instead of the instrument.
Massive windows covered most of one wall, the view just as amazing in here as in his bedroom. Gauzy curtains were pulled back, letting the sunlight in to glint in his hair. That soft hair that she wanted to plunge her fingers in again. To hear that soft groan he made when she tugged his hair and scraped her nails over his scalp.
She edged closer, not wanting to disturb him, because the song he was playing was beautiful, but she couldn’t place it. And he was playing acoustic. She’d only heard him on his electric guitar at the club. There was something so secret, so intimate, with an acoustic guitar. No bells and whistles to add to the sound, just him and a perfectly shaped piece of wood.
When her grandfather had played his acoustic, she’d watched him for hours. He’d made up songs for her, and she’d sung along, unable to truly carry a tune, but he’d still encouraged her. She bit back her smile at the memory. He must’ve loved Ben. It was crazy to think that Ben had met her grandfather a few times before he’d passed, and they’d played together. Her heart squeezed, wishing she’d been around to see that. She’d never dwelled on the memories she didn’t have of her family due to her traveling, until now.
And then the music stopped, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Hey,” he said, flashing her a brilliant smile that lit up his entire face. She had to stop herself from skipping over to him.
“Morning,” she said, her voice a little scratchy, partially from sleep, and partially from her recent trip down memory lane.
“You okay?” he asked, as he set the guitar aside and rose, holding out his hand to her.
She did not skip.
It was close.
He intertwined his fingers with hers and tugged her close, his lips barely touching hers. “I like you in my shirt,” he said. She stared at his smile before looking up into his eyes. His gorgeous brown eyes. This close up, she spotted tiny flecks of gold.
“I like you out of yours,” she shot back.
“Someone’s feisty in the morning,” he said, brushing his lips across hers in a brief caress—too brief, as he pulled back, and grinned.
“And someone’s a tease,” she pouted before sealing her lips with his, swallowing his chuckle, and gripping his waist. She may have slipped her hand under the waistband to squeeze his ass.
Who could blame her? She could bounce a quarter off that splendid bit of flesh.
She parted her lips when his tongue nudged at her mouth, and deepened the kiss, her moan swallowed up by him as he consumed her.
He hoisted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and she lost her grip on his ass. Dammit.
And then he dropped her on the extra deep couch, his body a welcome weight as he settled on top of her.
“Now this is a good morning,” she whispered against his lips as he woke her up properly.
***
An hour later, she was sprawled out on top of him, his hand trailing lazily down her spine, her breathing finally returning to normal.
“I never do this on game day,” he said.
“Do what?” she asked, propping her head up to look at him.
“Have sex on game days. It’s never really been an issue before,” he said, and shrugged, his hand still skating down her back.
“You broke a superstition for me? I feel honored.” She wasn’t sure how to take that but the butterflies in her belly ramped up. They never really talked about his superstitions, but even she knew that breaking one was a big deal.
“I’d rather you feel satisfied,” he said, grinning at her, that damn dimple shooting desire through her body.
“Oh, I am. So no sex on game days, huh. Not sure I’m on board with that.”
“How about no sex twelve hours before a game? That’s almost a full day.”
She glanced at the clock. “It’s eight thirty and your game is at seven.”
“Technically, we start closer to seven fifteen, so that’s almost eleven hours.”
She dropped her head, kissing the spot where his neck and shoulder met. “So, no more until tonight?” she whispered, feeling his erection harden beneath her. She couldn’t resist rocking her hips.
“You’re playing with fire,” he growled. “And if we lose tonight, it’s on you. Making a hockey player break his superstitions is dangerous,” he said, his hands cupping her ass and holding her to his body.
“You’re not playing fair,” she groaned.
“Neither are you, but I’ll make it worth your while tonight.”
“I bet nine hours is sufficient.”
His chuckle was pained. “You are trouble.” He lightly smacked her ass. “How about I make breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry for food.” But her stomach grumbled before she could finish her statement. Traitor.
He chuckled, his body shaking beneath hers. “You were saying?”
“Fine. I guess I could eat. We did burn a lot of calories in the last twelve hours,” she said, poking his hard abs. Rock freaking solid.
He grabbed her hand, pulling it up to his mouth and nibbled on her fingers. “I’m always hungry.” His eyes darkened, and she knew he wasn’t interested in food.
And, holy hell, was he amazing at that. His tongue did this little thing…
“Bet you’re not thinking about food anymore,” he teased.
“Stop tormenting me. You’re the one with the time constraint,” she muttered. And he said she was feisty this morning.
“Payback for all the tormenting you’ve done in the last few months.”
“What?” She pulled back in mock horror, but couldn’t fight her grin.
“You knew exactly what you were doing to me.”
“Not my fault you took forever to follow through,” she teased. He pulled her down for a quick and bruising kiss.
“Speaking of interruptions, didn’t your mom offer to make us pancakes? Maybe we should head over there.”
“Oh god, that is so not funny,” she groaned, then reached down to tweak his nipple.
He shifted away from her. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”
While this teasing side of Ben was adorable, she had no desire to talk about her mother with him.
“You know you can talk to me about anything,” he said.
“I know. I just don’t want to ruin our morning. Do you have eggs?”
He nodded, question still in his gaze, but she brushed it aside, knowing it had nothing to do with her food inquiry.
“Great. I’ll make us omelets. And you have to serenade me,” she said, climbing off of him and snagging the shirt he’d tossed on a nearby chair.
“Serenade you? I’m not really much of a singer,” he said.
“Just play. It’s super hot. You’d get all the ladies if they knew about your hidden talents,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Wait. Are we talking about my musical abilities or the other things I like to do with my fingers?” he teased, his eyes darkening. A blush stained his cheeks, as if he was surprised he’d actually said it.
Fuck. That was adorable.
“Stop distracting me. I’m starving,” she muttered, then kissed him one last time, skirting around those questing fingers to head into the kitchen.
His chuckle followed in her wake, and then he started playing. It was the same song that he’d been playing when she’d woken up. Then he started to sing, just barely over a hum. It was soft and beautiful.
She moved around the kitchen, grabbing what she needed. She wasn’t a gourmet chef, but she made do. They could’ve gone out for breakfast, but as she whisked the eggs and listened to him play, she had no desire to step foot out of this condo anytime soon.
“I think I’ve heard that song before, but I can’t place it,” she said.
“It’s Zeppelin. ‘The Rain Song,’” he said.
“Do you ever play it at the club?”
“It’s not really blues, and it’s one of the only songs that has this specific tuning. You have to tune up a step. I’d need time to adjust or another guitar just to play this song,” he said matter-of-factly.
“It’s really beautiful,” she said, resisting the urge to either fan herself because she was currently on fire, or drop her spatula and climb into his lap.
Did he realize how incredibly attractive he was in that moment? Bare chest, ink swirling down one arm, his bare feet poking out from the bottom of his sleep pants, a guitar in his lap, one hand resting against the body of the instrument as he paused to explain. His musical knowledge only added to his delectableness.
She bit the inside of her cheek and focused on the eggs. She wanted to climb back into his lap. Stupid superstitions. She was still having difficulty believing he’d broken one for her.
He gripped his guitar. It was the only thing keeping him anchored to the couch when what he wanted to do was toss his instrument aside—not that he’d ever do that—and pull her into his lap again. Screw breakfast.
She puttered around his kitchen, making breakfast in one of his soft t-shirts that unfortunately, due to their size differences, ended way too low on her body. He bit back the urge to rip it off of her.
But it wasn’t just how enticing she looked in his clothes, it was how comfortable she looked in his home. He got a glimpse of what he could have, permanently. And he wanted it. Ached for it. Hadn’t known what he was missing until she’d slammed into his life, a whirlwind of energy.
“Why did you stop playing?” she called out. “If I’m cooking, you’re serenading.”
He chuckled, then loosened his hold on the fret board, and started playing again.
“It’s almost haunting,” she said as he reached the first chorus.
“It’s my favorite.”
“Why?”
“My dad used to play it for my mom. He learned it from his dad when he was growing up. They loved Zeppelin and raised me on blues and rock from the sixties and seventies. Back when music was good,” he said.
“Hey. There’s still great music.”
“Not like the old stuff.” He chuckled. “Probably why I hang out with the guys in the club band.”
“Does your dad ever come to watch you play at the club?” she asked, walking out of the kitchen with two plates and setting them down on the coffee table. “Thought we could eat in here. You know, so you can still play for me.”
His laugh was soft. “Nice priorities.”
She shot him a smile. “You know it.”
“And, no. He’s back home in Minnesota, but even if he was here, he wouldn’t come and watch. I don’t think he’s picked up a guitar since my mom passed. It was their thing. She’d sing along while he played.”
He read sadness in her gaze. “My grandparents were like that, too.”
“Except that your grandfather still played after your grandmother died.”
She reached out and took his hand. “We all grieve differently. It was a comfort for my grandfather to be surrounded by the people he loved and in a place that held strong memories of her.”
“Yeah. My dad just shut down. It’s awful, but a part of him died when she did.” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to depress the mood this morning.”
“No. I want to know what’s going on. You know this is more than just a hookup, right?” There was a wariness in her eyes that he didn’t expect, like she wasn’t one hundred percent confident in his answer. It was his turn to squeeze her hand.
“Yes, I know that. This was never going to be a one and done situation.”
She gave him a soft smile and took in a breath. Holy shit. She was actually nervous.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, tugging her closer to him on the couch. Her fork clattered to the table and she wrapped her arms around his neck, shifting into his lap.
He kissed her, needing her lips against his, before finally pulling away. “Stop tempting me. No more sex until tonight.”
She laughed. “You started it.”
“Pretty sure you climbed into my lap.”
“Pretty sure you kissed me while I was trying to eat my breakfast.” She pressed another kiss to his lips. “But, food is overrated,” she said, and then her stomach growled, and he couldn’t hide his laugh.
“Sounds like your body disagrees,” he said.
“Oh shut up,” she said, scooting off of his lap and cutting off a bite of omelet.
“This is really good,” he said, taking his own bite. “Perfect ratio of cheese, veggies, and eggs.”
“Figured you weren’t the type who enjoyed globs of delicious cheese, so I put most of it in mine,” she said, and then smirked, before shoveling in another bite.
“Thanks.” He ignored the thrill that burst inside of him knowing that she thought about that stuff. What he might not eat during the season, or how conscious he was of his diet. That she paid attention. That she cared.
Which said horrible things about his dating past, that her consideration was unfamiliar.
“Do you eat good carbs during the off-season?” she asked, pulling him from thoughts he was in no mood to have.
He chuckled. “Yes. I eat good, and complex carbs during the season and off-season.”
“I think we’ll agree to disagree on what a good carb is,” she teased.
“Thanks for making me breakfast,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss on her cheek.
“Thanks for serenading me,” she said, her gaze meeting his, her eyes that stormy blue he loved. She wore her emotions in her eyes and he knew she was thinking about her grandparents again.
He polished off the rest of his omelet and picked his guitar back up. He’d play for her as long as she’d let him.
***
“I should probably get you home,” he said hours later as they lounged in his bed.
“You kicking me out?” she asked.
“Of course not, but I have to get ready for the game tonight and take my nap.” They’d spent the day hanging out in his condo, neither one in the mood to go out in public. She’d borrowed his laptop and worked on a blog post while he’d gotten in a short workout in the gym he kept in his second bedroom. He also had a small desk in there, but had ordered her to write in the living room because every time their eyes met, he wanted to jump off the treadmill and on to her, but he wasn’t ready to abandon his superstition completely.
But once tonight’s game was over, they were heading right back here. Game nights were another story. She’d teased him about his quirks, but had quickly let it go when he’d planted a hard kiss on her lips and pushed her from the room. She hadn’t made fun of him. The teasing was just that—teasing. Nothing malicious or aggravated behind it, even if she had huffed as she left the room, claiming she’d been enjoying the view. He’d shot back that the view of the Bay was the same from the living room, knowing full-well that it was not the view of the bridge she was referring to.
“If I promise not to try to get in your pants, can I join you for your nap? It’s really tiring watching you work out,” she said, with a naughty grin.
“That look tells me that you won’t be on your best behavior if I let you stay.”
She batted her eyes. “Pinky promise, I won’t attack you.” Her eyes darkened. “I’m saving that for tonight.”
He tried to ignore the desire coursing through him. It didn’t help when she looked down at his cock, barely hidden in the lounge pants he’d pulled on after his workout and shower. A shower he’d refused to let her share. His self-control was only so strong.
“Fine, but if you put your hands down my pants, I’m kicking you out,” he said, and then grinned.
“I don’t think a man has ever uttered that sentence before,” she said.
“Amanda,” he drew out.
“Fine. But if you feel the need to perfect your fingering, I won’t complain,” she said, grasping his hand and pulling him toward the bedroom.
He was going to regret this, but he couldn’t drum up enough willpower to care.
***
Eight days later, Ben stretched out on the team plane. He was headed to Edmonton when he wished he was in his own bed, Amanda cuddled up next to him. They’d spent the last week in relationship bliss. A handful of dates and an abundance of orgasms.
The conversations were easy. The teasing both frustrating and adorable. This was what he’d wanted. What he’d always wanted. Who knew it was possible with her? He was still finding it hard to believe when he’d kissed her one final time this morning, which had led to a shower he wouldn’t soon forget.
And every time a doubt would niggle, or his past would encourage him to be cautious, he ignored it. Not that he’d confided in her about Tara. Nor had they discussed Amanda’s mother. But how long could this phase last before he wanted—no, needed—more?
“Why so glum?” Harty asked from the seat next to him. They were watching a movie on Harty’s tablet, but Ben wasn’t interested in the screen.
“What are you talking about?” he bit back.
“Things are going well with you and Amanda, right? Every time Penny tried to make plans with her this week, she had some lame excuse that I’m pretty sure had your name all over it.”
Ben couldn’t fight back his grin. “Not that it’s any of your business. And I’m not lame.”
Harty chuckled. “Happiness looks good on you, Cheesy.”
“Hey. I’m happy a lot of the time.”
“Sure. Sure. I’m just saying, finding the right one has more benefits than you can imagine. And I’m not just talking about a steady hookup.”
“Penny would kill you if she heard you refer to her as a steady hookup.”
“Which is why we aren’t telling her. Just don’t fight it, man.”
Not that he needed advice from Harty, but he’d been done fighting it for ages. Giving in to whatever Amanda wanted was the best decision he’d ever made.